


Over There

by marchionessofblackadder



Series: The Mother Dove [9]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-30
Updated: 2013-07-30
Packaged: 2017-12-21 20:15:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/904429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marchionessofblackadder/pseuds/marchionessofblackadder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With Mrs. Gold sick in bed, her husband entertains their children for the evening.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Over There

**Author's Note:**

> A present for wondertwinc. Happy birthday, dear!

Mr. Gold blamed himself when it came right down to it, because that morning as they’d been getting dressed for another quiet day of work, he’d scoffed at the flash flood warnings and waved his hand at the idea. The weatherman was always wrong in this world, and they hadn’t seen so much as a full grown puddle all summer long. So when Belle nearly drowned on her walk to the car through the torrential downpour, shivering and sneezing, his dried up old heart cracked down the middle, swaddling his bride in blankets and towels and his own coat until he could drive them home.

“With all your ma-ma-” Belle sneezed so violently, she nearly lifted herself out of the bed, scrambling for more tissues. “With all your magic, you can’t divert a simple storm?” 

“You disapprove of it,” Rumpelstiltskin replied, weakly. He sat on the side of the bed, reading through the various cold medicine bottles and boxes from the bathroom cupboard. He wrinkled his nose. “Though I could conjure a better cure for the common cold than this mess.”

“No,” Belle sniffled, rubbing her nose until it was nearly raw and wincing. She blinked blearily up at him, folding the tissue demurely. “It’s not that bad. I’m just a big baby,” she said with a little smile, putting on a brave face.

“This is all my fault,” Rumpelstiltskin muttered, reaching a weathered hand and cupping her face. She was hot to the touch, and his face crumpled, pushing her messy braid to the side to touch both her cheeks, then her forehead. “If I’d only paid attention...”

“I don’t expect you to control the weather, Rumple.”

“But I can!” He huffed, frowning. “Why must you be in such good spirits, even when I make a mistake, Belle? It’s a bother, you know.”

“I’ll work on it,” said his wife, laying her head back against the downy pillows and taking his hand comfortably, smiling up at him. “After a nap, I think.”

Lifting her little hand to his face, he pressed a warm kiss to her palm and nodded. He stood up and tucked her in, making sure she was utterly at ease, smelling of lemon and vapor rub, before he turned off the lamp. The curtains were pulled back, so the meager grey light of the storm outside watered across the carpet enough for him to find his way out, and he quietly shut the door.

Walking down stairs, he listened to the rumbling thunder, enjoying the sound the sheeting rain made against the old, creaking house, but no sooner did his sock covered feet touch the landing of the stairs did the lights flicker off.

“Papa?”

“Just the storm,” Rumpelstiltskin said, frowning in the darkness of the entry hall until he could make his way into the front room. Baelfire and Amelia sat side by side on the couch, staring up at him with rounded eyes, the former glassy as if he’d just woken up, the latter with pure worry.

Though he would never admit it, it unnerved him that Bae was so slow to aging, the magic of Neverland having the most residual effect. He had assured his son that he would grow, normally even, but it would take time. Four years later, and Rumpelstiltskin’s best assessment was that Bae was finally fifteen. He had been there so long without growing up that not only did the magic need to wear off, but Bae’s body had to remember to move forward. Rumpelstiltskin knew what that felt like, a little-hundreds of years as the Dark One, and he remembered the feeble pain of getting old.

“Will the power come back on?” Baelfire asked, shifting on the couch beneath the blanket he shared with his sister, rubbing his eyes with fists.

“I should probably check the circuit box,” Gold muttered to no one in particular, crossing the room to the fire place and locating the box of matches. Flicking one alive, he lit three candles-two on the mantle, and one in an individual holder he could carry. Then, he knelt and lit a fire in the fireplace, happy to have left some fresh wood there. Soon the room was warm and dimly lit enough to see in. Looking back at the children, he said, “Bae, there’s flashlights in the basement, in a tool box on the workbench. Could you bring them for me?”

“Sure.” He clambered up, already dressed in his pajamas and an oversized sweater Belle had knit for him (anxiety during her pregnancy had propelled her into picking up all kinds of hobbies she wasn’t necessarily good at, mostly to keep busy, and Bae had ended up with half a new wardrobe of things all not in his size). He handed the candle to his son.

“If I go, I’ll miss a step and break my leg,” Gold rolled his eyes, walking his son to the basement door. “Then we’ll really be in trouble.”

A warm weight pressed against the back of Gold’s knee, and he looked down to find Amelia shuffling beside him, armed with her stuffed elephant and a determined look on her face. He rested his hand on the back of her head just as she leaned forward and said, “Be careful, Bae.”

“Not everyone’s afraid of the dark,” Baelfire scoffed, rolling his eyes before going downstairs.

The door shut behind him, and Gold and his little girl exchanged knowing looks.

“He can do it,” Amelia said quietly, twisting her hands on the hem of her white ruffled pajama shirt. The pants were too long for her, his little teacup of a girl, and more often than not she sported bruised elbows from falling over them. Her hair, soft, downy brown like his own curled like her mother’s, a heap of hair that no braid could ever hope to contain.

After a moment, she reached up and took his hand and let out a deep sigh full of concern. “He’s taking a long time.”

“Patience is the key, my lark,” Mr. Gold said, turning and leading the little girl back down the hall to the front room. His own weary gait was well matched to her short legs, and as he helped her back up onto the couch, he half considered fixing the television with a wave of his hand. Then again, if Belle hadn’t wanted magic to cure her cold, he doubted she’d approve of using it for the television.

Sitting heavily in his favorite armchair, an overstuffed oxblood leather number soft and worn from years of use, Rumpelstiltskin frowned over the side of the armrest and peered into his basket, picking up one of Baelfire’s shirts that needed mending.

“Papa?”

He glanced across the way where little Amelia sat, swallowed in a creamy wool blanket and peering across the room at him. “Yes?”

“Don’t you need your glasses?”

Mr. Gold narrowed his eyes. “Are you calling me old?”

“No,” Amelia blinked her wide brown eyes at him, chewing her bottom lip to hide her infectious smile. “But... but you’re blind as a bat without them.”

Snorting at one of his wife’s most beloved phrases, Rumpelstiltskin conceded defeat, leaning his elbow on the chair. “I ought to turn you into a mouse. Fetch them for me, then.”

Amelia wriggled off the couch and hurried away into the dining room just as Baelfire walked in from the darkened hall, his hair mussed in four or five different directions a great smear of soot streaking across his cheek and nose. He held up three flashlights. “Found them.”

“Gods, son, did you fall down a rabbit hole looking for them?” Gold frowned, taking the flashlights with one hand as he rubbed at Bae’s cheek with his thumb.

“I dropped the candle, and it went out,” Bae said with a smirk, twisting away from his father’s ministrations as his sister padded back in, holding his glasses triumphantly high. “You should clean that cavern out.”

“Do you give your mother this much trouble before I get home, or is this just for me?” he asked, leaning to take the glasses from his girl, but Amelia shook her head stubbornly.

“I want to put them on you.”

“Can you do it gently?”

“Yes,” Amelia frowned and pouted at the insinuation, clearly offended. Gold leaned forward, closing his eyes and felt the clumsy childish handling of the half-moon spectacles being slipped over his ears. Blinking his eyes open, he adjusted them before winking. “I told you,” she said proudly, before clambering up into his lap, her hair catching on his tie pin before she got comfortable in the well of the chair with him.

Bae fell across the couch to land on his face with a great harrumph, and for a while he lay there quietly as Rumpelstiltskin proceeded to mend a tear in one his son’s shirts and the little one watched the rain create pretty patterns against the windows. The peace didn’t last long though, before Bae flipped back over lazily and asked, “Do you think school will be canceled tomorrow?”

Mr. Gold glanced up from the thread he was working before pushing the needed through the fabric. “Possibly.”

“So, does that mean we could stay up late tonight?”

“And what happens tomorrow if school isn’t canceled?” Rumpelstiltskin asked not unkindly, wrinkling his face when some of Amelia’s hair tickled beneath his nose as she shifted to become more comfortable. He blew it out of the way. “You’ll be tired.”

“But if it is canceled tomorrow,” Baelfire said, a small smirk playing on his lips. “Then we’ll have wasted time being able to stay up, and I guess...” he feigned disappointment. “We’ll just have to wake you up early with us.”

Amelia drew a weary sigh, knocking her head against her father’s shoulder. “A waste.”

“Oh stop it,” Gold snorted at both of them, finishing the small mend in his son’s shirt before tossing it across the room at him. “Yes, stay up. Build a fort. Read some horror stories. Eat chocolate. Do what you want, just don’t disturb your mother.”

“A fort’s a great idea,” Baelfire exclaimed, vaulting over the couch and running out into the hall before barreling up the stairs. “Amelia, come get some pillows!”

“Baeflire, I said quietly!” Gold growled, pushing himself up out of his chair as his daughter tumbled off the side, scurrying with bare pink feet across the hardwood.

“No, Bae, no-blankets are better!” she cried, rushing up the stairs after her brother.

Mr. Gold pinched his nose as he lumbered into the kitchen, brandishing a flashlight to light his path. Pausing at the stove, where he’d intended to make tea, he realized he still had yet to fix the circuits and instead let out a rumbling growl and walked back across the house to the basement door. This time with the proper light, he was able to feel his way down the steps. In the dimness, he could make out his son’s footprints on the dusty floor, and he followed them to the workbench where the circuit box was located. Tucking the flashlight against his ear like a telephone, he opened the box and within a few short moments felt the hum of electricity come back to life through the house.

Slamming the box shut and walking back up the stairs, he shut the door behind him and frowned at the sudden quiet of the house. Instinct was to check on Belle, but he was too afraid of waking her if he did and rest was more important for her than his own state of mind. Limping back into the kitchen, he flipped the light on over the stove and set the tea kettle on a low fire, opening the fridge with a deep breath. As he started to reach for the leftover lasagna, Amelia slid across the hardwood floor so fast she crashed into the counter of the kitchen, falling in a heap on the floor and causing her father to drop his cane in shock.

“Amelia, are you hurt?” Gold asked, throwing back the fridge door to hurry across the kitchen. He knelt down, his eyes darting all about his little girl for blood or bruises or broken bones.

Amelia climbed up, stumbling for a moment from dizziness. She rubbed her head and gave her father a dimpled, lopsided smile, whispering, “I’m okay, Papa, but-” she paused, letting her arm drop in defeat. “I’m hungry.”

Rumpelstiltskin sighed, rubbing his face with one hand and nodded. “I know, love. That’s why I’m going to make dinner. It’s good for you, you know,” he said, poking her tummy and making her wriggle and giggle.

“But I don’t want that,” she insisted, taking his hand and leading him to the fridge.

“You don’t even know what I was going to make.”

“I know that I don’t want it.”

Rumpelstiltskin leaned down and lifted the child up, perching her on the island counter and holding the fridge open. “What will you dine on tonight, m’lady?” he asked, pitching his voice in that giggling higher tone that always made the children laugh.

Amelia snickered, chewing on her lip as her doe brown eyes fell across the fridge before she pointed to a crystal jar filled with bright orange. Gold took the jar out and sat it on the counter, leaning on his chin on his hand and leveling his gaze with the little girl who returned his look with equal measures of seriousness and concern.

“You, Ms. Gold, cannot have a dinner on apricot preserves.”

“Why not?”

“Because that’s not a meal,” Rumpelstiltskin said patiently, hiding a smirk as she turned back to the fridge. She looked like her mother more in that moment, when she thought so hard. It had been a look Belle wore constantly in the days of her employment in the Dark Castle-always thinking and considering her options, working out puzzles and meanings behind whatever he said or did. It had been the undoing of him.

“But there’s bread,” Amelia said, tapping her little hand upon the jam’s jar. The kettle began to whistle, and Gold turned about to take it off the stove. “Tea and bread and jam, Papa, please?”

“Is there cheese?” Baelfire’s voice startled him, and he turned to find his son with his head in the crisper, looking as though he’d find another world there. “I do love cheese.”

Mr. Gold let out a harsh breath, frowning. “Your mother won’t like you two not having a proper dinner.”

“Mama said you used to eat nothing for days,” Amelia said, swinging her legs as Baelfire pulled out a cheese wheel and plopped it on the counter. She smiled with pearly teeth, her eyes twinkling. Rumpelstiltskin supposed his daughter favored him in that-she knew when she’d caught someone. “But you always had tea.”

“Didn’t she take you on a picnic once?” Bae asked, grabbing a meat cleaver before Gold nearly threw himself across the counter to take it from him, narrowing his eyes. Bae smirked at his flushing father and said, “I can’t imagine the all powerful Dark One spreading out a blanket.”

“It was a trap. We were going to gather potion ingredients. She just happened to bring lunch,” Gold stuffed the knife in a drawer and grabbed a more appropriate knife for cutting into the wheel of mozzarella, snorting. “It was all her doing.”

“Did you pick flowers?” Amelia asked, taking a small square of cheese from her father as he offered it to her. “You can’t take a princess on a picnic and not give her flowers, Papa.”

“My courtship worked just fine, thank you.”

“Not the way I heard it,” Baelfire snickered, ducking when Rumpelstiltskin lobbed a washcloth at him.

“Get a plate,” he said, moving back to the cabinet and taking down three teacups. One with its memorable chip, another that was smaller and pink with delicate confetti roses inside, and a third that was white with red and gold trim around the rim. He filled each with the steaming water and chose the appropriate tea leaves-English Breakfast for Bae, a sweeter Earl Grey creme for Amelia, and his own he chose a rose scented black tea, and set them to steeping.

Baelfire set the plate on the counter and began putting the cheese in some intricate pattern, and Gold bumped elbows with his son as he spread the preserves across slices of bread. They worked in quiet company, but Gold grew slowly aware that his daughter was eyeing him from her perch on the counter and once he set the last slice of bread down on the plate turned his eyes to her and raised his brow. “Can I help you?”

Amelia scrunched her lips up, wrinkling her nose in thought. “If you had a castle and mama was a princess, does that mean I’m a princess too?”

“She wasn’t a princess, Ame, she was a lady,” Baelfire said, putting the top back on the jar and walking around Rumpelstiltskin to put it back in the fridge. “Snow White was a princess.”

“Oh.” Amelia’s face smoothed, and for a moment Gold was afraid she would start to cry. Instead, she continued to sit in dejection and look hurt until he swept his cane up and rounded the counter, poking her tummy again to worm a smile out of her.

“If you think too hard, your hair will fall out.”

“No it won’t,” Amelia said obstinately, grabbing her father’s hand and hugging it to her chest.

“It will too,” Gold insisted, letting his thumb rub at her shoulder and resisting his inclination to smile. “I’ve seen it happen, so you better be quick and tell me what you’re thinking before you go bald.”

“Mama would have made a good princess,” Amelia said, chewing her lip as she looked down at the big blue stoned ring on Rumpelstiltskin’s finger. She tapped at it with her short nail, sniffling.

Mr. Gold considered those words before he lifted his little one down to stand on the ground once more. He took out the milk and removed their tea bags, dropping milk and then sugar in each (extra in his and Bae’s, for they had sweeter teeth than their women). Loading the cups and saucers upon a small tray, he cleared his throat and said, “You know, back in our world, princesses were everywhere. Running thither and yon and getting into all sorts of trouble. Falling in love and making promises they couldn’t keep.”

Baelfire held the plate of food as they made a line and walked back into the front room, whispering to his sister, “That’s how Papa got to be so rich.”

“But Mama wasn’t like that,” Gold insisted, careful of his limp, his cane, and the tea in each cup. “She was smarter than them. She saved her people, and even when she was frightened, she did the brave thing. She was a hero. I could’ve danced with hundreds of princesses at a ball, but none of them would be like your mother.”

“I thought that was because she can’t dance very well,” Baelfire said, ducking when his father wagged his cane at him.

Entering the front room, Gold suppressed a groan to find that the fort had been a success. Amelia’s rose printed sheet set had been removed to drape over the back of his chair, and Baelfire had implemented two brooms and what Gold could only guess was spools of his golden thread to hold up a vast network of blankets and sheets. At Bae’s sheepish grin, Gold narrowed his eyes. “You couldn’t have at least left my chair alone? I can’t get in this, Bae, my leg is in too bad a way.”

“We left it open for you,” Baelfire said, running around the other side of the couch. True to his word, he’d raised the sheet up high enough so that Gold could still sit in his chair and be privy to the children’s fort, and smirked at his son’s cleverness.

“Fine, fine,” he muttered, setting the tea tray on the side table before he sat down once more. The children attacked the food with enthusiasm, smearing apricot preserves on their faces. Gold nursed his tea, enjoying the contrast of the rain sheeting against the shingles of the house and the crackling fire near his feet.

“Tell me more about over there,” Amelia asked, scooting closer to his feet until she was sitting in between his shins. Gold was careful as he leaned down and handed her the small pink cup that was closer to cold than lukewarm. She leaned her head back to look at him from an upside down view, blinking her wide brown eyes. “Please, Papa?”

“I want to hear Cinderella’s story again,” Baelfire said, arranging some pillows behind him so he was propped against the couch.

“Not that one,” Rumpelstiltskin said, pointing at Amelia when she wasn’t looking. “Too scary.”

“Robin Hood?”

“Too bloody.”

“The Doctor and the Hatter?”

“Why are you so curious about over there anyway?” Mr. Gold asked suddenly. The thought hadn’t occurred to him, but he supposed they would be interested. The Enchanted Forest was home for them, but for Amelia, and others like her who had never seen it, it must have seemed like utter fantasy.

“Bae said there’s dragons,” Amelia said, setting her teacup down primly before hugging her stuffed elephant to her chest, leaning back against her father’s legs. “I would like a dragon.”

“Too many teeth to keep clean,” Rumpelstiltskin paused over his tea before adding, “But they do make the best outfits.”

Bae snorted into his teacup.

Amelia bounced up on her own knees, staring up at her father in wonder. “You saw dragons, Papa? With fire for breath?”

“Of course I did,” Rumpelstiltskin huffed, setting his cup back on the tray. “Prince James and Sheriff Swan even slayed a few. Or was it only two? I can’t remember.”

Amelia’s face fell in hurt. “Why did they slay them?”

“Because they were dangerous,” Rumpelstiltskin hesitated, thinking perhaps it wasn’t a good idea to bring up monsters so late at night. “It was a favor for a king.”

“Which king?” Baelfire asked.

“Midas. He had the golden touch,” Rumpelstiltskin tapped his daughter on the nose with a smile. “Turned a few people to gold, as I recall. Silly beggar, really.”

“Can you really dance?” Amelia asked, and when Gold nodded absently, she chewed on her lip, and he knew her next question.

“But I’m not that good anymore,” Rumpelstiltskin said quickly. However, Amelia was already up on her feet and tugging at his hand.

“Show me, Papa, please?” she asked, smiling brightly. Baelfire snickered from his spot on the floor, and Mr. Gold sighed.

“Love, my leg is hurt,” he said quietly, and as her face began to fall he rubbed the back of his head. “...so I can only show you a little bit.”

Amelia led him to the empty space between the couch and the front windows, and he smiled tiredly as she stood as straight as possible, holding her arms out. He leaned down, keeping his own back straight, and placed her hand on his shoulder and took her other in his right. The angle was awkward, and he knew his back would start to ache, but he didn’t intend to waltz her about either. Gentle swaying was enough to light the smile on her face, and he even twirled her beneath his arm, much to her giggling delight.

“I want to show Mama when she wakes up,” his little girl whispered, looking down at their feet. “Does it hurt you very much?”

Startled, Rumpelstiltskin looked down at the little girl before glancing back at their shuffling feet, his right weaker than the left. He never felt older than when he realized how incredibly young and small his bright little bird was. “No, not very much,” he said softly, hoping the lie would ease her worries. “I’m sorry I can’t do more with you because of it.”

“That’s okay. This is good, too,” Amelia whispered back, and stopped their dancing to wrap her arms about his neck in a tight hug. Mr. Gold swallowed the thick lump in his throat and lifted her up into his arms, hitching her higher on his chest when she wrapped her legs about his waist.

When Rumpelstiltskin turned around, gently cradling the back of his daughter’s head, he saw Baelfire having fallen asleep against the couch, and smirked. So much for staying up late, he thought, but as he watched the gentle rise and fall of his son’s chest against the fire, he couldn’t help the memories of their quiet and meager home on the frontlands. The idea of taking his children back to the forest had never been a topic of discussion between him and Belle, and he couldn’t see their life transitioning very easily if it were to ever happen.

There were more dangers there, things with tricks and teeth and claws that wanted to hurt and bite and steal what was his away from him. Rumpelstiltskin sat back down in his chair, quietly holding his child and thought of his queen asleep in his bed, his family safe in his castle. Here, he could protect them, and he could see them happy. In this life, they had no need to fear such things as monsters-they only worried over a little rain.


End file.
